


Seven Sins

by Kitty_KatAllie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Religious Conflict, Smut, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Antonio and Lovino have to deal with not only the sudden tumult of emotions neither was expecting, but also with the heartbreaking mistakes and decisions that come with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Envy

Antonio twirled his pencil between his long fingers, a frown etched on his normally carefree face. _Normally_ , he would have already finished working out the tiny details, the measurements, the scales, the angles, curves, and arcs. _Normally_ , he would be blissfully humming and tracing line after line and forgetting the time completely. _Normally_ wasn't today, however. Today was not normal for him at all.

Maybe it was something in the air. Maybe it was something in his coffee earlier that morning? Maybe it was the way the sunlight fell on his blueprints, the way his eraser shavings never seemed to blow away, or maybe it was the way his chair was digging into his thighs? Whatever it was, Antonio was sick of it.

He threw his pencil down in disgust, staring down at his half-finished plans, scratching his already unruly hair. He hadn't been this uninspired since that one time in college when he had gotten too drunk with Francis and Gilbert the night before a project was due. He slumped back in his chair, bright, green eyes glaring at his window angrily. He jumped about a foot high when his phone suddenly let out a loud shrill. Chuckling, he slid off his chair and sauntered towards the living/dining/bedroom that took up a small portion of his sunny Italian studio. Though Spanish in origin, he had eventually found his way to Rome, Italy to pursue his career as a budding architect. Gilbert had stayed behind in Berlin, and Francis had made his way back to Paris, but Antonio had always been the one with itchy, wanderlusting feet.

Perhaps _that_ was the reason for his weeklong distemper? When was the last time he'd gone out and done something _new_?Met _someone_ new? He picked his cell phone just before the last ring ended, contemplating this thought rather seriously. He normally didn't do "introversion," but now seemed the proper time for it.

" _Bueno,_ Carriedo speaking," he answered in reflex.

" _Buongiourno,_ Tony! It's me, Bella!" a cheery feminine voice trilled on the other line. Antonio's mouth automatically curved upwards.

" _Bellita_ , your new Italian boyfriend has really helped out your Italian!" Antonio laughed. He laughed again hearing her soft noise of discontent.

"My accent wasn't _that bad_ , no matter what you and Ned say. Besides, you still have a Spanish accent, no matter what language of the _twenty_ you speak," Bella retorted sharply. He could hear the laughter in her voice, though, so he knew she wasn't very serious about scolding him.

"I only speak about six. But thanks!"

"About six. I barely speak two," she muttered under breath.

"Don't forget English."

"I try to. All the time," she sighed.

Antonio chuckled. Her English _was_ pretty bad. It was lucky _he_ knew Dutch passably well or he never would have become the young girl's friend. They had met during one of his touring summers of college. He applied to as many study abroad programs as he could, at least half of them Gilbert had joined him on, but the German had never been as excited about them as Antonio. Antonio had gone to Belgium and Holland just a few years ago and had met the cute, young blonde during the tour of Keukenhof, the famous tulip fields in Holland. She had been taking picture after picture of the scenery, including the people. In broken Dutch, English, and Italian, Antonio had learned she was from Belgium, a first year college student in photography, and was learning Italian so she could transfer to a school in Rome. Antonio knew Italian because he had taken classes there for an entire year. Their mutual interests led them to becoming pretty good friends during the weeks they were both in Holland, so that when they parted ways, they'd exchanged online contact information. Antonio was pretty flighty, but Bella had kept up the communication until she wrote to tell him she had finally moved to Italy and he had replied that he had just been offered a job there. Their friendship had been re-struck immediately, but it had never deepened beyond something cheerful and platonic.

Antonio adjusted his phone on his shoulder as he made his way through the mess of his studio towards the bathroom (bath _closet_ really) to wash the ink and graphite off his hands. "What did you call me up for, _Bellita_?"

"Are you free today?"

Antonio thought about the incomplete blueprints for the new wing some government official wanted add to some obscure library. Wait, was it a museum? Or a college? He mentally shrugged. "Yup."

"Great! I want you to meet Lovino!" she cried out ecstatically. Antonio's eyebrows rose.

"I thought he hated strangers and wanted nothing to do with me?"

"Oh, well, you see, I talk about you all the time, of course. And he gets so frustrated when I text you while we're in bed-" Antonio choked on air, somewhere between horror and amusement- "don't be a prude. You know you're not. So he finally decided to meet you! He wants to see if you really are as handsome as I say you are! Lovino is _so_ competitive. It's adorable, really!"

Antonio's amusement finally won out. "You're a piece of work," he finally got past his laughter, shutting off the tap and shaking his hands.

"I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"Never mind. When do I meetchyo old man and you?" Antonio asked, glancing towards the digital clock lying on the floor at his feet. He absently noted that he hadn't managed to throw it out of its plug today when it woke him up.

"How about… in two hours? He gets off work then," Bella finally decided a few moments later.

 _So… about six, then._ "Isn't he a… uh…cook?" he trailed off hopefully.

"He works in an art gallery! His _brother_ is a chef!" Bella huffed. Antonio rolled his eyes.

"If you didn't tell me all kinds of stuff at once, I wouldn't get confused."

"As if," Bella retorted flatly, using one of her favorite American-English idioms. "We'll meet at his brother's restaurant for dinner. I'll text you the address. Don't you dare be late, _or_ show up dressed like a mess! He'll kick you out before you can blink!"

"Fine, I'll pull out something from the back of the closet," Antonio grumbled. He hated dressing up. Why couldn't jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals be acceptable outside in the streets of Rome? He always got such dirty looks when he went out just for a _bagel_ , or just going to buy tomatoes and pasta at the nearby grocery store.

" _Iron it_."

" _Fine_."

"Love ya, Tony!" she chirped. Antonio rolled his eyes.

" _Si, si_ , good bye. I have ironing to do." She hung up laughing. It really was too bad there hadn't been more than casual attraction between them Antonio thought as he tossed his cell on to his unmade bed. She really was adorable and cute. She should've been just his type.

But after London… he stopped trying to figure just what his type was. He sighed as he flung open his wardrobe's doors. He never liked thinking about London… or the _occurrence_ that began there. He had confided to Francis and Gilbert one drunken night and both had actually been cool enough never to mention it again when he asked them not to. So, like he usually did when London popped up in his head, he pushed it back, _back_ , into the recesses of his mind and began to pull and yank on his shirts to look for one "acceptable" enough for Bella.

.

He, though horrible with remembering _facts_ , was really good with directions. Probably all those days of wandering around Europe and the Americas had helped, or it might have been because he was good with dimensions and city-plans, but he rarely got lost. Also, unlike a lot of people, every building stood out specifically in his mind, each its own personality and façade. He _remembered_ buildings and artwork, which was truly everywhere if one knew how to look. He just remembered the things he'd seen and found himself back at his starting point easily. So, with Bella's horribly texted directions only, he hadn't gotten lost once on his way to the tiny Italian restaurant. He sauntered up towards the buildings, eyeing the structure with a trained eye. Simple, elegant, friendly. Nothing too ornate or ostentatious. A plain, square, white building, brightened with potted flowers, a bright red door, and yellow awning over mismatched chairs and tables. Tiny glass vases sitting on hand-made doilies were sitting on the center of every outdoor table, a single pink geranium standing tall in the clear water. Antonio pushed open the door, grinning up at the silver bell that jangled cheerfully over his head. He always loved bells hanging over doors. There was something so welcoming and homey about them as they announced your arrival. He glanced around the bright, clean restaurant. Inside, the tables and chairs were a bit more regular, made of wood and all cut in the same design, but all painted different, vibrant colors. Tablecloths were spread over the indoor tables patterned in pale yellow and bright red flowers, and, like the tables outside, a single geranium stood in little glass vases. There were maybe a dozen tables, which was quite a bit for such a little shop. Near the entrance to the kitchen Antonio spied a bright blonde head. He navigated through the tables quickly.

" _Bellita_! I'm not late, am I?" Antonio called out as he neared. Bella turned around, her green eyes lighting up with her smile.

"TONY!" she cried out in excitement. She was on her feet and throwing herself into Antonio's arms before he'd quite made it to her table, or seen her reclusive boyfriend. "Oh, you're just in time! We always get here early to chat with Feliciano. Oh, don't you look _handsome_! You remembered my advice about red, I see!" Bella's eyes twinkled and she leaned back and took in the full effect.

Antonio looked down at himself, vaguely confident he had put himself together pretty well. He wore a pair of black slacks without even a speck of paint on them (he had no idea they existed), and a dark crimson silk shirt that Francis had bought him for Christmas a long time ago. His satin black tie was shiny and new, even though he wore it much too loose. He wore a white belt (the only one he could find, because he really didn't have many to begin with) and brown shoes.

"So, I did good, right?" Antonio asked, grinning and wagging his eyebrows.

"Other than your offensively ridiculously choice of shoes, you really aren't horrible," retorted a voice sharply from behind Bella. Bella giggled as Antonio leaned around her, eyes wide in surprise, his mouth tugging into a smile.

And he felt like someone slapped him in the face.

He was sitting there, leaning back in his chair, amber eyes glaring at him inscrutably, perfect mouth turned down into a frown. His arms were crossed over his chest and one foot was lying over the opposite knee. He was dressed to kill with dark grey slacks with darker pin-stripes and a bronze blouse. His belt and tie and shoes were all black and shiny, as if brand-new, and a classy leather wristwatch peeked from under his cuffs (he was wearing _real gold cufflinks!_ ). His dark hair was stylishly mussed, with only a single, long curl standing free. His slender, arched brows rose, his lips curling a little more in disgust.

"You look like a fucking idiot gaping like that, _Spaniard_ ," the Italian snapped as heat rose in his face. He looked puzzled, angry, and wary.

"Uh… yeah. I'm Antonio. And, uh… I'm sorry, you are?" Antonio asked, his tongue fumbling with the words. He was never this awkward, _never_. What was going on? Both Bella and the Italian stared at him. Bella burst into giggles just as the Italian narrowed his eyes.

"She told me you were pretty oblivious, but this is borderline _brainless_. I'm Lovino Vargas, you fucking idiot," Lovino answered.

Antonio felt slapped in the face again. He really should have known that. Who _else_ could it have been? But the image of this beautiful young man being Bella's boyfriend just never occurred to him. Surely this had to be a joke. Not that Bella wasn't beautiful in her own way, but this Italian with his snarling mouth and flashing amber eyes had to be single, had to be for- Antonio shook his head briskly and laughed, though it sounded odd in his head. Out of place with the warring of emotions he couldn't name.

"Of course! That was kinda dumb of me, huh? It's nice to finally meetcha, Lovino!" Antonio replied, stepping out to hold out his hand. Lovino scowled.

"You barely speak our language, but you're going to butcher it further with all your damn slang?" Lovino grumbled, holding out his hand with obvious reluctance.

"It's easier to speak with slang, _si_? I learned most my Italian in pubs," Antonio told him, grinning. He grasped Lovino's hand to shake. A slender hand, warm and smooth, a firm grip. Antonio's hand felt huge wrapped around his, his fingers and palm rougher from work, and his skin a slightly darker shade than Lovino's olive-tone. He wanted to touch more, slide his fingers over the fragile bones of Lovino's wrist and stroke the thin skin over the steady beating pulse. He quickly pulled his hand away, his fingers flexing at his side as Bella sat back down.

"No wonder your Italian is so… unpleasant," Lovino sneered slightly. He hadn't seemed to notice Antonio's reaction.

"Be nice, Lovino! Not everyone is born Italian! And my Italian is so much worse than Tony's. Sit, Tony, go ahead. He likes you fine," Bella confided with a wink as she patted the empty seat. Lovino sputtered indignantly at this as Antonio laughed.

The table was small and round, with four chairs sitting around it. Bella and Lovino had seated themselves directly across from one another, so the empty seat was technically in between them. Antonio ignored the subtle leap in his pulse as he took his seat. To his right, Lovino was mumbling angrily and looking like an affronted cat. Antonio wished he could just lean over and stroke his neck to soothe him like any other disgruntled kitty. He had to twist his fingers into to the fabric of his slacks to stop himself. Where was this need to touch coming from? Why was it so hard to keep his eyes off the grumpy Italian? Even when he turned to Bella, he kept Lovino in his peripheral vision.

"Order anything you want, Tony. Lovino is treating today. He gets a discount, you know, because this is his brother's restaurant. Not only that, but his brother is the head chef and will _personally_ make our meals. His food is the best in the world! Nothing compares!" Bella sighed dreamily, almost salivating just thinking about it.

"I don't cook half bad," Lovino grumbled. Bella laughed, throwing back her head with gusto.

"If you _ever_ cook! We've been dating six months and you've only cooked once for me! You always call your brother and make him cook it for you!"

"I don't have fucking time to cook, Bella. I do own an _art gallery_ ," Lovino retorted, blushing beet-red. Antonio grinned, mesmerized by how adorable Lovino's sulking face was. That blush was too cute. Antonio mentally promised himself to make Lovino blush again… a lot.

"Tony?" Bella said sharply. Antonio broke off his train of thought and glanced round at her.

"Sorry, what?"

"Bastard, don't just fucking ignore her!" Lovino snapped.

"Oh, calm down, Lovino. He's really busy, you know!" Bella said quickly, flapping her hands at him. Antonio rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, _Bellita_. I don't know where my head is these days," Antonio apologized lamely. Bella smiled at him.

"It's _fine_ , Tony. I was just saying you should show Lovino some of your work!"

"My work?" Antonio cut his eyes towards the fuming Italian. "Are you looking to expand? I have a few projects already promised, but I should be able to come up with something for you." _Mayors and libraries be damned. If you want to build a castle, I'll toss the others out the window._

"No, you fucking idiot! I run a _gallery_! She said you paint shit and wants me to look at some of it!"

Understanding dawned. " _Oh_! _Bellita_ , you know how I feel about that," Antonio pointed out, his gaze back on her face. His tone was serious and low. She fidgeted a bit, blushing.

"Come _on_ , Tony! You're so good and you have so many! You should share all that beauty! It's a gift, Tony. I'm serious, Lovino. You would _love_ his paintings in your gallery," Bella gushed, reaching to hold Antonio's hand in both of hers. "Please just show him, Tony!"

"Why don't you want your paintings in my gallery? It's small, but highly recommended. I have all the top artists and a lot of the local talent showcased. Nothing stays longer than a year- well, five years _at the most_. My clientele are prestigious and generous to artistry," Lovino said smugly.

"It's not that. I paint… I paint to feel. When I feel so much, when I can't possibly hold it inside my head anymore, I have to paint. Sometimes, I don't even plan it. Those are my feelings on the canvas. I don't want to sell my own heart," Antonio explained, shaking his head with a slight frown. With his eyes closed, he missed the wide-eyed astonishment on Lovino's face. For a single moment, genuine respect shone in Lovino's light eyes. His face shuttered closed, hiding the lapse.

"You're such a poet, Tony, but so silly! You're not selling your heart!"

"Bella, it's fine," Lovino interrupted. She glanced at him, her mouth opening to protest, but he raised his hand. "Don't force him to do anything. It is _his_ art. I would like to see them, though. I own a gallery for a reason. I love art. When I look at a painting, a sculpture, any form of art, I want to _feel_ something. True art invokes emotion. I'm addicted to that, seeking and finding beauty is the main reason I do what I do. Selling it is a secondary goal with pleasant benefits," Lovino smirked at Antonio, who grinned back brightly. Antonio made another mental note to see Lovino's real smile _soon_.

" _Bellita_ is too nice about my paintings. I took some art in college, but it's really just a hobby. I'm an architect by trade," Antonio shrugged easily.

"Yes, Bella already told me that. Unlike some idiots, I remember what she tells me," Lovino replied pointedly. Both Bella and Antonio laughed.

"Lovi~ Who is this handsome Spaniard in my restaurant?" asked a cheerfully singsong voice. Antonio glanced up and blinked.

The young man approaching was almost Lovino's double. He was a little chubby around the edges, and his whole face was lit with a smile, though. His hair was a lighter shade of auburn to Lovino's dark brunette, and his eyes were half-lidded, hiding whatever color they were beneath thick lashes. The man held out his hand, that pleasant smile never leaving his soft lips.

"I'm Feliciano Vargas, Lovi's younger brother. Welcome to _Caffé Rosso_ ," Feliciano greeted him. Antonio shook his hand.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I like your café. It's very colorful and happy," Antonio told him. Feliciano laughed aloud and clapped his hands in delight.

"Oh, I _like_ you, ve~ Are you single?"

"Excuse me?"

" _Feliciano!_ " Lovino snapped. Feliciano pouted.

"I'll never get a date if you keep treating me like a child."

"Oh- I'm s-sorry, I d-don't- I'm n-not-" Antonio stammered, blushing wildly. Feliciano, Bella, and Lovino all stared at him.

" _Really?_ Well, _there_ ' _s_ a blow to the self-esteem," Bella muttered under her breath. Antonio gaped at her.

"You thought I was _gay_?" Antonio choked.

"But I hit on you, like, a dozen times, Tony! I even slept with you a few times! Nothing ever happened! I thought I was obvious! I gave up when I realized you were gay- but now you're not?"

"Yes! I mean, no! Wait, what do I mean? You really think I'm gay?" Antonio groaned, ducking his head and grabbing his hair. Feliciano laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, his whole body trembling.

"How about I just make us some pasta and forget all about this?" Feliciano supplied helpfully.

"Please, Feli, please," Lovino mumbled, rubbing his face with his hand and looking a little sheepish about something. Feliciano nodded, turned on his heel, then spun back around to look at Antonio.

"If you ever change your mind, Antonio, you let me know," Feliciano teased, his eyes open to reveal big brown eyes that successfully made him the most adorable person Antonio had ever laid eyes on. He had the face of an Italian angel. Then, Feliciano winked and sashayed away. Antonio gaped after him, his face bright red.

"Se-seriously?"

Bella giggled as Lovino groaned in embarrassment.

"If Mama were alive- I just… My brother is very openly gay. If it bothers you, I'll tell him to cool his fucking heels," Lovino offered, being contrite for once. Antonio finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.

"No, no, it's fine. He's cute and I like him. I guess I don't mind flirting a little, but I'll make it clear that's where it stops. We're both adults, _si_?"

"Yeah, well, don't break his heart, or I'll cut off your fucking balls."

As the night wore on, it only got better. The pasta Feliciano brought was probably the best Antonio had ever eaten. It was even loaded with extra tomatoes. Apparently Lovino and Feliciano liked them just as much as Antonio and used them a lot in their recipes. They drank fine red wine and had espresso afterwards upstairs in Feliciano's rooms over the café. It closed pretty late at night, but Feliciano had enough employees to close it down for him, and they four hung out on his tiny, wrought-iron balcony while the night life of Rome erupted around them. They sang popular Italians songs, talked about art, photography, and cooking. They even got Antonio to talk about his work, his _actual career_ , not his discarded canvasses, and Lovino seemed almost as passionate about architecture as Antonio. Feliciano had explained it was in their blood, having Sicilian relatives from their father and Southern Italy was renowned for its architecture. Somehow, Antonio had managed to make his way home- vaguely remembering Lovino calling for a taxi from the balcony.

He stumbled his way upstairs, not drunk, but buzzed enough to be a little klutzy. When he managed to swing open his door, he kicked his shoes across the studio, ignoring the bangs as the leather soles smacked into some unknown wall, and then flopped all the way down to his bed, which was basically a thick mattress on the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, face flushed from wine and a strange sort of breathlessness. For some reason, he couldn't get Lovino- sharp-featured and even sharper-tongued Lovino with his teasing little smirk and distracting little curl- out of his head. All night long, he'd used any subtle excuse he could to touch him, but it had only made his fingertips, his elbow, his knees, every inch that had brushed so innocently against Lovino's, burn as if touching melted wax on the candle. The idea that Bella could very well be sleeping with him now, in some ritzy flat with tasteful and expensive art everywhere, because that fit Lovino to the ground, made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to punch something just thinking about it.

Why… why did he… feel so… so damned envious? Of course he didn't want to be there, in Lovino's bed, or waking up next to him the next day. That was ridiculous. The wine, and Feliciano's flirting, and thinking about London earlier, yeah- all of that was making him go crazy. There was no way he was jealous of Bella having such an amazing boyfriend. Definitely not.

It didn't stop him from dreaming about when Lovino sang, holding a cup of coffee in his slender, beautiful hands as they looked out over Rome earlier that night.


	2. Avarice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is a line later in the story that could be considered offensive to homeless people. "Leftovers were for dogs and, if he was feeling particularly charitable, homeless people." I do not equate, nor does the speaker, equate homeless people to dogs. In a way, the speaker is actually being kind, just in a horribly rude way. ^^; In RL, my family will buy food or something if a homeless person asks for money. Same concept.

Seven Sins

Chapter Two

Avarice

Antonio woke the next day rejuvenated and excited for the day. Compared to yesterday's ennui, he was a giant ball of energy- and he didn't even need the Italian morning staple, coffee. He whistled as he showered, as he cooked a light breakfast of eggs and toast and fresh tomatoes, as he doodled on the blueprint he couldn't concentrate on before. His head didn't even hurt, which wasn't totally surprising, since he hadn't drunk much the night before and it had been well-mixed with food and coffee. He had just finished his daily allotted amount of work when his stomach rumbled for lunch. He actually dropped his pencil in surprise, quickly looking out his window to see it had already become at least two in the afternoon.

Antonio leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. He really had no idea why he was so cheerful today, but he wasn't one to question happiness. He let his mind wander, lazily trying to figure out what he should have to eat. It was getting late, and if he didn't hurry, all the shops would close for the afternoon siesta. In fact, a few of his favorite places he _knew_ to be already closed.

Then, an image of bright red and yellow and green seared into Antonio's brain, accompanied by the smells of pasta and wine. _Caffé Rosso_. He had no idea how long Feliciano left his restaurant open for lunch, but with a sudden burst of energy, he was on his feet and running for the door. He was going to find out.

.

When he entered _Caffé Rosso_ not much later, the last patron had just left. A waiter and waitress were clearing up the tables and another was counting the till.

"I'm sorry, sir, we're closed until the evening re-opening," the young woman informed him pleasantly, looking him up and down and smiling appreciatively. "If you like, you can come have lunch with me."

"Felicia!" the other worker snapped, blushing brightly.

"Felicia? It's kinda funny, you look like Feliciano and you act just like him, too!" Antonio joked. Felicia blinked.

"You know my uncle? HEY, UNCLE! THERE'S A HOT SPANIARD HERE FOR YOU! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE GETTIN' LAID, YOU JERK!" she shouted , walking back towards the kitchen. Feliciano popped his head out the doorway, his face confused.

"I'm getting laid?" Feliciano asked. "Why didn't anyone tell _me_ this, ve?"

Antonio laughed out loud. "Wait, wait! I just came here for food."

"Oh, don't think you can fool me. I know that euphemism already," Felicia scolded, brown eyes twinkling. Everyone else laughed, and Feliciano grabbed her shoulders.

"This is Antonio… eh, I forget all the other names. He is Bella's friend," Feliciano explained. He look over to Antonio, his eyes open rather than lazily half-closed, treating Antonio to his beautiful, mischievous brown eyes that looked a lot like Felicia's. "Are you really only here for the food? Surely you came for the company, too?" Feliciano prompted, pouting a little.

Antonio grinned. "Yeah, I couldn't get enough of the food _or_ the company last night. But if you're closing up, I think I can find some Panini place or something."

Everybody in the restaurant gasped in horror.

"Panini? God forbid! You can't come to _Caffé Rosso_ and not eat with me and instead eat some fast food sandwich! When you crave pasta, you _get_ pasta," Feliciano replied, rushing over to grab Antonio's hand and tug him towards the kitchen. There was something about the younger man's smile and tone that made "pasta" sound like something sinful.

Feliciano led Antonio to a small room off the kitchen, cramped with comfy armchairs and creaky, wooden tables. The walls were a mellow yellow with postcards and black and white photos tacked to the walls of all the different cities and landscapes of Italy. There were wooden cabinets built into the far wall where purses, shoes, random articles of clothing, and bottles of various drinks were stashed. Feliciano sat Antonio down in one of the armchairs and smiled.

"What would the _signore_ like to try today?" Feliciano joked. Antonio couldn't help but grin.

"Whatever you're in the mood for, 'cause you're going to join me, _si_?"

" _Si!_ I'll whip up something delicious, then! Just for us two, though," Feliciano told him, winking and then sauntering away.

Antonio chuckled and leaned back, studying the photographs until the employees filtered in. He joked with all of them cheerfully, shaking their hands and getting each one's name. Felicia kissed both his cheeks as she left, brown eyes twinkling with their earlier mirth and mischief.

"If you ever change your mind, my uncle is a great guy. Of course, I'm available, too," Felicia offered as an afterthought. "I've got a really comfy bed if you'd like to come test it out."

"Sounds tempting, but I like my bed just fine," Antonio replied easily.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Felicia! Get your cute little butt out of here and leave Antonio alone!" Feliciano exclaimed.

"Right, right~ See you, Antonio," Felicia sighed. As she left, she turned around, blew Antonio a kiss, and winked. She yelped as Feliciano, balancing two plates on one arm, smacked her on the bum as she walked by, and making them all laugh.

"You and Felicia get along really good!" Antonio said as Feliciano neared the table.

"Yup, our whole family is pretty close. The Vargas family is a big one, too," Feliciano replied, setting down a steaming plate full of pasta in front of Antonio and then in front of his own seat. He walked back to the kitchen and Antonio turned in his chair, casually noting that Feliciano still had a sexy little sway to his hips.

"I have a pretty big family back in Spain. I haven't seen 'em in a while, though. Maybe I'll go back this Christmas. Christmas and Easter are big in my family," Antonio tossed nonchalantly over his shoulder.

"Catholic? Those are big for us, too." Feliciano came from the kitchen just moments later, carrying glasses, wine, and napkins. He sat down next to Antonio, but Antonio snagged the wine and poured.

"Eh, raised, baptized, all that jazz, but I really haven't gone to church since high school. Not a big deal to me," Antonio explained, with a shrug, setting aside the wine when both glasses were full. Feliciano nodded in understanding.

"I know a lot of friends like that. I consider myself pretty religious, but, well, I can't go to church anymore," Feliciano said sadly. Antonio shoveled some food in his mouth, cheeks bulging. Feliciano winced and daintily swirled some noodles on his fork.

"Eh, why not? There's Catholic churches everywhere! It's _Rome_ ," Antonio pointed out in confusion after gulping down his mouthful.

Feliciano paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, wide-eyed gaze on Antonio's face. He blinked a few times, then, slowly, he placed his fork down, covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking, as he tried his best to contain giggles. "Antonio, I'm not _completely_ joking around with all this flirting, ve! I _am_ gay. I came out when I graduated from high school."

Antonio's whole face flushed tomato-red and he grinned sheepishly, making Feliciano laugh harder. "Wow, that was really stupid of me, wasn't it?"

"And I thought only I could be that oblivious!" Feliciano exclaimed. Feliciano's laugh was so infectious and cheerful that Antonio couldn't feel uncomfortable for long. They both laughed together before changing the subject to other things and chowing down on pasta.

Feliciano rose at the end of the meal, picking up the dishes and yawning behind his elbow. Antonio, though impressed by the Feliciano's acrobatics since he didn't so much as drop a fork as he did that, quickly got to his feet and grabbed the glasses and wine and napkins. "I'll help clean up before heading home. You cooked it after all. How much will it-"

"Please, don't be insulting after such a lovely lunch," Feliciano interrupted teasingly, brown eyes twinkling. "Your company was more than enough for me."

"I feel the same, Feli! I had a great time," Antonio agreed, grinning. Feliciano blushed with pleasure. "I better help with dishes, though. If you won't take money, I'll feel bad leaving you with all the dirty work."

"You're sure you not gay? I wouldn't mind payment in sexual favors," Feliciano joked.

"I'll let you know if I change my mind, but for now I'll stick with helping you clean up," Antonio chuckled.

"Well, I won't hear of you going home," Feliciano said as they filled a sink and pushed up their shirt sleeves. Antonio stared at him. "It's hot outside and you'll have to walk all the way home at this time of day! You'll come upstairs and nap in my apartment. I have a nice, comfy couch, Mr. No-Sexual-Favors-Or-Fun."

Antonio snickered and rinsed a plate. "I'll take you up on the couch. My flat isn't too far, but so much pasta made me sleepy. Thanks for the offer."

"Antonio," he turned at the serious tone in Feliciano's voice. The little Italian was frowning just a bit at the soapy water. "I would like to consider us friends. You're not… you're truly not uncomfortable with my teasing, _si_?"

Antonio reached over and placed his hand on Feliciano's shoulder. The shorter man jerked and turned to look up at Antonio. "I like you, too, Feli. Don't worry, I would tell you if I had enough. I'm glad you're my friend."

Feliciano's face broke into a wide, happy smile. "Ve! Fantastic! Now, I won't feel horrible when I tell you that you owe me a hundred euros for this raw silk blouse you just ruined with your wet, soapy hand!"

" _QUE?"_

.

Lovino trudged into Feliciano's apartment more than an hour after his gallery closed for the afternoon break. He was a little sweaty, irritable, and _tired_. He hated leaving his afternoon nap for so late in the afternoon, and his lunch had been cold by the time he had been able to eat it. He hated cold food and he flat-out refused to own a microwave. Leftovers were for dogs and, if he was feeling particularly charitable, homeless people. He sighed and placed his blazer on the coatrack by Feliciano's door as he loosened his crimson-red tie. He froze, light eyes glancing towards the couch. Stretched over the entire length of the couch, with his bare feet dangling over one end, lay Antonio. The man was almost six feet tall and Feliciano had him sleeping on the couch? Lovino scoffed, kicking off his shoes. Apparently the Spaniard still had the absurd notion he was straight. After living with _Feliciano_ their entire lives, Lovino had developed a pretty good "gaydar." Antonio's "ping" made a sound equal to every church bell in Rome going off at one time.

Slowly, heat suffused Lovino's face. For some reason, he'd caught himself standing there, in the doorway, staring at the bastard. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away. Who cared if the man even _slept_ like a slob, with his shirt tossed over the back of the couch and his unbuttoned pants halfway down his bony (well, maybe not _bony_ , he had more meat on him than Lovino did…) hips and bearing an _absurd_ pair of white boxers with yellow happy faces printed all over them? Lovino surely _did not_. He raised his nose in the air and made to walk across the room, only to trip over the _absurd_ rubber flipflops lying haphazardly over the floor. Antonio mumbled sleepily, then turned over, pressing his face to the back of the couch and chuckling thickly.

Lovino glared up at Antonio, mouth twitching even as he scowling and flushed hotly. _The bastard laughs in his sleep? Well, of course the clown would_ , Lovino inwardly grumbled, trying not to be amused. He tossed the flipflops onto Antonio's face, smirking at Antonio's sleepy cry of shock, and made it to Feliciano's room without further mishaps. Surprisingly, Antonio hadn't woken from the shoe-to-face slapping. Lovino tried not to mentally store this fact away, but did anyway, cursing himself.

.

Antonio woke to the smell of coffee and feet. He reached up and grabbed the object lying over his face. Green eyes blinked away blurry vision until his black flipflop came into focus.

"Why are you on my face, shoe?" Antonio murmured sleepily.

He heard a loud snort followed by a peal of bright laughter. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, barely registering his other shoe falling to the floor from his shoulder, and squinted towards the kitchen nook across the doorway from the common room where he'd napped. He blinked again, sure he was seeing double. Then, the differences between the brothers sharpened and he realized he was staring at Feliciano and Lovino sitting at the tiny kitchen table, little mugs of espresso in their hands. Feliciano, of course, was the one giggling away madly. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"I threw them on your face. Better there than in the middle of the damn floor where they can trip people over, you idiot," Lovino retorted sharply, his mouth curved up into _that_ smirk. The smirk that was trying its hardest not to be amused, but obviously was. It made something burn low in Antonio's belly, but he ignored it and laughed.

"My bad, Lovi. I didn't know you were coming over, too!"

"Who the fuck said you could call me Lovi?"

"Ah, Lovi, don't get so angry. He calls me Feli already, too! He's just friendly like that. Drink up your espresso and don't be such a sourpuss, ve!" Feliciano pleaded, the laughter still in his voice. Lovino grumbled, but sipped his espresso. Feliciano turned back to Antonio, who had tossed the shoe back onto the floor. "Lovi comes over for naps between work shifts a lot. My apartment is closer than his and we both prefer sleeping together, rather than alone. Just a sorta habit, ve~"

"Speak for yourself, damn it, I can sleep by myself just fine! You're the fucking whiner here!" Lovino interrupted harshly, his face bright red. Feliciano flinched, and then chuckled. "I come over for the free lunch, damn it! Don't get any other ideas, you got that, Spaniard? It just so happens I ran late at work today. New shipment, most of it sculptures. Pain in the ass, that's what," he muttered irritably, crossing one leg over his knee.

"Ah, I see. Well, I better go clean up. Is there anymore coffee?" Antonio asked, rubbing his wild bedhead and getting to his feet. Feliciano pursed his lips to whistle, but gasped instead at Lovino's sharp kick to the knee.

"It's _espresso_ , you heathen. Hurry up or I'll drink it all," Lovino snapped. Antonio laughed, grabbed his shirt from the couch, and turned to the bathroom.

Both brothers made eye contact, Feliciano grinning mischievously. "Now, _that's_ a fine butt, Lovi. Straight, gay, eighty-year-old nun, it doesn't matter. You'd have to be dead not to appreciate a butt like that. Actually, I bet even the angels fly by just for a glimpse. And all that bare skin and those muscles- Please, God, as blasphemous as this is, let that man come out the closet so I can get me some of that," Feliciano whispered, fanning himself.

" _Shut up, Feliciano!_ My God, you're embarrassing. And don't ask _God_ for something like that!" Lovino hissed, his face all red. _Not that Feli is wrong…_

"Pfftt, brother, I was born this way. I stopped being ashamed almost ten years ago. More coffee? Or would you like a wet towel to cool down those red cheeks?" Feliciano teased as he poked Lovino's cheek. Just like when they were kids, Lovino's cheeks always puffed out like a balloon when he was embarrassed and blushing. He yelped and sniffled when Lovino slapped his hand.

" _Just espresso_."

It didn't take long for Antonio to come back from the bathroom with his pants buttoned and his shirt thrown back on. He knew he still looked a little mussed up, but he had splashed his face with cold water and did other necessary things and felt a whole lot more alert. The espresso helped. The look on Lovino's and Feliciano's faces when he attempted to add sugar to his espresso, though, _that_ woke him up. It was _priceless_. They looked like he had just poured… mustard or something in his cup. Feliciano hid his horror behind his own cup quickly, but Lovino raged at him for a good five minutes about being a heathen and tasteless.

"So, Antonio," Feliciano began as Lovino huffed into his cup. Feliciano also passed around a plate of homemade biscotti liberally drizzled with chocolate. Antonio snagged one and, as he chomped down, looked to Feliciano. "I remember that you said you painted. I put a bunch of local artwork in my café downstairs. Mostly I have photographs and the like, but I do like variety. Sometimes Lovino loans me a piece and I send him the money if I sell it. How would you feel about putting one of your pieces up? I need something new to pizzazz it up, ve~"

Antonio frowned a bit, but it was Lovino who answered. "He doesn't sell, Feli." The brothers looked at one another. "He's like you were a few years back."

"Oooohh, is he? Oh, Antonio, I didn't mean to insult! I thought you'd be flattered!" Feliciano quickly explained. Lovino slapped the back of his head. "Owie! Why did you hit me!?"

"Now, you sound condescending, you idiot!"

" _Ay, ay!_ Calm down! No one's insulted. I _am_ flattered. You haven't even seen my work and you're interested, that's very nice of you. I'm glad you understand why I won't sell, but I _will_ give, Feli. You'll have to come pick something out for yourself, but if you like anything, it'll be yours. As a _gift_ ," Antonio replied, smiling. Feliciano lit up.

"Ve! Ve! Oh, Antonio! You're so sweet!" Feliciano cried out happily as he clapped his hands together. He frowned. "I won't possibly have time to come by, though. _Caffé Rosso_ stays open rather late. It's also Friday night. I stay open to serve wine and coffee until almost three in the morning. Lovi~~~" Feliciano whined, turning to his brother with tears on his lashes, fingers clutching at Lovino's sleeve.

"Damn it, Feli, really? It could just wait!"

"No, no, I want it for the Saturday night dancing I have! You know what I like! You're so much better at picking out pieces! You know how to make things fit so perfectly in place! Pretty pleeeeeeaaaaaasssseeee?"

"SHUT UP! FINE! JESUS CHRIST!"Lovino yelled, throwing up his hands. Feliciano cheered. From his seat, Antonio felt his belly twist into knots.

 _Lovino. In his flat. Looking at his art. Lovino. In his_ flat _. Lovino in his room!_ "Eh, whut?" Antonio mumbled when he realized the brothers were looking at him.

"I'll come by after work, dumbass. I need your address."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I'll write it- um, I need a pen-"

"What are you, a fucking caveman? I have an iPhone," Lovino sneered, holding out said device. Antonio chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his head.

He left a short while before Lovino did, mentally running around in circles. He had to clean up, he should probably take a shower, all his paintings were covered up, and _Lovino was coming over to his flat!_ He shouldn't be acting like this, he was almost hyperventilating and his palms were sweating. He should buy something. Like… coffee- no, he had coffee. Flowers? What man buys flowers without a reason? Showing off his paintings was _not_ a reason for flowers. Cookies? Did Lovino like cookies? What about dinner!? Would Lovino be coming by for dinner? Antonio grabbed his hair and groaned. He should have _asked_ , or _invited_ him for dinner. Well, he would get stuff for dinner, something delicious, and so if Lovino _did_ expect dinner, he'd have something. Also something to drink- Italians seemed to only drink wine. Did he even have any? Well, there was that box from the last time Francis visited. Lovino didn't seem a wine-box person, though. WHY WAS THIS SO COMPLICATED?

Finally, eight 'o' clock rolled around and Antonio was slightly calmer. Lovino's gallery closed later on Fridays and Saturdays, hence the two hour wait compared to yesterday's meet up. Antonio checked to make sure the wine was chilled enough, that all his dirty clothes and dishes were hidden away somewhere, and there was a box of cookies on the counter and coffee- _espresso_ brewing in his tiny machine. He munched nervously on a tomato (eating it like one normally eats an apple), and stared at the clock, foot tapping nervously. He slouched down on the tall barstool at his kitchette's bar, eyes sweeping the one-room flat. Yeah, it definitely looked tidier than usual. His huge drafting board took up most the floor space, and there was really no helping the mess _that_ was. He glanced down, sighing, and groaned. Somehow he managed to get tomato juice on his clean, white T-shirt. He got up and shuffled towards the tiny closet, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he called himself an idiot in all six languages he knew.

A knock jarred him back to his surroundings. He made it to the front door, hands on the door knob, before he even realized he'd moved. With a powerful sweep of his arm, Antonio threw the door open, taking in the sight of a flustered, tired-looking Lovino with greedy eyes.

" _Hola_ , I thought you'd be a little later," Antonio greeted, hoping he didn't sound breathless. Looking at Lovino was like a punch low in the gut. He couldn't take his eyes off him.

"What the fuck? You're just going to stand there? Let me in!"

"Right! _Lo sie_ \- Sorry! Come in," Antonio babbled profusely, stepping back and closing the door behind Lovino.

"If it's slow enough, I close down the gallery a little early. Once word gets out I have a new shipment, I'll be up to my neck in collectors, but for now, most my patrons are off snozzing and rubbing elbows with rich elite business men and the like. I hope you have something to eat in this… _closet_. I came straight here to get it over with," Lovino said, curling his lip at the unmade bed and the tiny proportions of the room. "Is that rat's nest where you sleep at?"

"Yeah, that's my bed-" Antonio began, already heading towards the cupboards where his recently purchased groceries lay. Lovino cut him off with a slicing motion of his hand.

" _That_ is not a bed. That is a pile of blankets on a _mattress_ on the _floor_. Do not insult beds everywhere," Lovino said snidely, perching up on a barstool. "And that's espresso I smell, I hope?"

"Ah, yes. I made it for you. I had some of my own, but I thought you'd like something different than what I normally drink. It's the same brand I saw at Feli's."

Lovino gaped at him, those beautiful amber eyes wide as Antonio set the little mug down. A picture of a kitty peered from the mug's surface. Antonio had put the one with the penis on it (courtesy of Gilbert and Francis a couple birthdays ago) in the _far back_ of the cup cabinet.

"Whatcha staring at, Lovi? Oh, the tomato, right. I meant to change my shirt," Antonio licked his fingers and scrubbed at his shirt, blushing brightly. Lovino reached out and grabbed Antonio's wrist. With a large amount of sheer will power, Antonio restrained the shudder Lovino's touch caused.

"No, not that damn tomato stain, slob though you are. You… bought a bag of coffee for me?" Lovino murmured. Antonio smiled, delighted at the shock and pleasure in Lovino's voice. That slight hint of a blush was too adorable for words.

" _Si_. You seem like someone who likes things just so, am I right? I want you to feel welcome here. Ah, and I got stuff for dinner, 'cause I wasn't sure if you _were_ gonna eat here, smart, right?" Lovino's hand fell away and Antonio wandered back to the cupboards. "I normally only have bread and milk and tomatoes, I always have tomatoes, but I got stuff for paella. Have you had paella? It's my favorite. I'm a really good cook, promise," Antonio rattled on.

He was too busy chatting away to notice how bright the blush became on Lovino's face as he sipped at his espresso. Nor did he notice the slight curve of Lovino's lips into a truly glad smile. Dinner went smoothly, in fact, Lovino didn't even complain about it- he didn't compliment it, either, but hey, it was a start. When Antonio tipped the empty plates into the sink, Lovino picked up his glass of wine and got to his feet.

"So, where are these paintings of yours? I need to get home eventually."

"Yeah, they're in the other room."

"The other room?" Lovino repeated incredulously, eyebrows lifting high as Antonio came around the kitchen bar counter and led him across the cramped, tiny flat. "If you have another room, why the hell do you shove everything in here?"

"Sometimes I need more room than just my drafting board while I draw up building plans. And I like having a place just to draw or paint without everything… everything else, you know?" Antonio tried to explain.

There was a sliding metal door in the wall that Lovino had figured to be welded shut long ago to make another apartment on the other side. Instead, Antonio heaved it open rather easily and stepped inside. Lovino followed him, a little warily because the room on the other side was pitch dark. He glanced around, scowling and taking a sip of wine as Antonio fumbled around next to him.

"Here it is!" Antonio crowed, a small flick sounding moments later. The room flooded with harsh, white light and Lovino cussed aloud and covered his face. "Sorry! I forgot how bright those florescents are! I haven't been in here after dark- well, ever, really, in a while."

"Jesus Christ, you're such a moron," Lovino muttered blinking away bright spots from his vision. When he could finally see, his eyes widened in shock. Canvasses on canvasses were stacked in the room almost equal in size of rest of the flat. There were tarps covered in paint and oils scattered and piled on the floor. Large blue and white scrolls leaned in the corners, obviously discarded building plans. He set the glass of wine down on the ground and drifted into the room, breath stolen. "You're a fucking artist. These are _amazing_ , Antonio," Lovino breathed, picking up a picture of green-eyed girl with two long pigtails laughing as she swung high in the air.

"That's Rosa. My little sister. I have lots of my family. When I miss them, I paint them," Antonio told Lovino, leaning against the wall by the doorway and blushing faintly. "Thanks for the compliment."

"Not a compliment," Lovino muttered setting down the laughing girl and going towards a crayon picture of tulips. "Fact. It's a fucking _fact_. These are genius. I don't know if I hate you or love you right now. You _sure_ you won't sell?"

"Sure. But I'll give. If you see something you want, you can take it. I always give my pictures away to friends if they like 'em. Bella's got one."

"The- the ocean picture… _that picture of a beach in Greece?_ That was _yours._ "

"Yeah, Greece was nice. Bella all but stole it when she saw it!" Antonio laughed. Lovino stared at him over his shoulder before moving on.

"I think that tulip one is great for Feli's café, the reds and yellows would go perfect, of course, and that blue sky will definitely make it pop, but… you don't mind if I keep looking, right?" Lovino asked hesitantly. Antonio shrugged, grinning.

"Some of those in there are terrible, though. I've been carting and shipping all these around for years. My mom even sent me some when I first moved out here, so I have some from high school and grade school. If you see any macaroni posters, those are some of my firsts!"

Lovino laughed, his whole face lighting up. Antonio stared at him, stunned down to his toes. If pretty pictures made Lovino look like _that_ , he'd paint the man a _museum_. He watched Lovino move among the canvasses, murmuring and gasping and cussing as he went. He couldn't take his eyes off the Italian. He watched each movement, each bend of his waist, each stretch of his arms with those same greedy eyes he'd had when he saw Lovino at his front door. It was amazing that just within the past hour he'd gone from that bedraggled, exhausted-looking young man on his doorstep to this light-hearted smiling man, almost boyishly delighted as he searched among the pictures. Antonio had never enjoyed watching someone so much and watching people is what Antonio _did_. The majority of his pictures were of people- family, strangers, friends, old lovers, even some commissions he'd kept the rough drafts of. He frowned as Lovino stilled and dropped to his knees near the far back of the room. What was he- Antonio's eyes widened and he rushed through the chaotic aisles of canvasses. His heart sank when he saw what pictures Lovino was gazing at.

 _London_ …

There was a pale shoulder and arm, the light dusting of freckles almost invisible under the harsh light and a darker hand _Antonio's hand_ placed on that slender arm. He could almost feel that smooth skin again and he repressed a shiver. Then, a picture of a pale hand over a darker one _Antonio's hand_ fingers entwined and twisted into cream-colored sheets. Lovino picked up a rolled parchment before Antonio could get his bearings back and unrolled it. A rough pencil sketch of a young man smirking, ridiculously bushy eyebrows raised high. The only colored part was his eyes, a bright clear green that Antonio could never get right. Glimpses of a time he tried to forget. Could Lovino tell… Could Lovino guess?

"Who is this?" Lovino murmured, looking back at the first two canvasses. Both were made with oil pastels instead of paint. Antonio knew there was a painting somewhere of the Thames and a bench… a bench where he'd met him.

"London."

"Excuse me." Lovino's stare bored into his.

"Someone I met in London. I don't like talking about it." For once, Antonio's voice was low and serious and Lovino dropped it, only gazing back at the pictures.

"I want these two."

Antonio felt as though he had been slapped. Out of everything in the room- "Why those two?"

"Because I like them. They're edgy and intimate and the play of light and shadow, the darker tones of the skin on the lighter, it's a visual orgasm," Antonio winced at the choice of word, "I would like to sell them."

"I can't-"

"I know. So I'll take them and have them stagnate in a closet somewhere until I find sufficient blackmail on you. I'll take the tulips for Feli, too. You sure you don't want to be paid?" Lovino double-checked, amber eyes flicking over to Antonio's face.

"Uh- well, actually… I was wondering…" Antonio trailed off. He hadn't meant to say that! What was he about to ask- "Could I… could I draw you? You could come back a couple days in the week and it's just until I get something I want to paint, not too long," Antonio blurted out, horrified at his words as they tumbled off his lips. Lovino's face was impossible to read, but he didn't look… angry.

"What." Lovino replied with a completely deadpanned voice. Antonio felt sweat break out on his forehead and his face flushed hotly.

"I started a few sketches and I was hoping I could paint something. You saw all those portraits. I love drawing people-"

"Why me?" Lovino interrupted harshly. Antonio blinked and rubbed the back his head.

"Because there's something… irresistible about you. I keep wanting to draw it, but I can't get it right and it's driving me insane. Please?" Antonio tacked on his plea at the end as Lovino got to his feet. "That's all I ask in return for the pictures you take."

"Just… pictures of me… Do you want me to come by and pose or something?" Lovino asked, shuffling a little awkwardly and keeping his eyes on the floor.

"No. I just want you to be yourself. You can yell me about my coffee, eat lunch, or even take a nap. _No_ posing. I want to draw you being you, that's the point."

Lovino's whole face flushed, but he nodded slowly. "Sure… no one's ever asked me to model before. It's weird. _You're_ fucking weird," he finally snapped, his soft, shy voice returning to his usual brisk one. His eyes cut at Antonio, scowling fiercely. Antonio grinned.

"Maybe no one else would be stupid enough to try and draw you," Lovino opened his mouth furiously, but Antonio continued on, trying to explain, "I mean, it'll be tough to match the art to the model."

Antonio's breath left in a whoosh as Lovino's palm smacked into the middle of his chest. Lovino stomped past him, his hair hiding his face. He stopped at the doorway, his hand laying on the doorjamb and he half-glanced over his shoulder. "I'll send some of my workers over for my oils and the tulips around nine a.m. Have them ready. I'll be by on Sunday after Mass."

Antonio stared after him, flabbergasted, a dazed smile on his face as he rubbed his chest. It wasn't long before the front door slammed. Maybe Lovino thought he was being complimented by Antonio's request, but really it was downright selfishness on Antonio's part. He just wanted more time- more and more and more time- looking at Lovino, _being_ with Lovino.

When did he become so greedy?


	3. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: If you see grammatical errors in Antonio’s speech, it is on purpose. That’s how he speaks. Same with any and all dialogue.
> 
> I don’t own Hetalia. Rated M for foul language, adult situations, and religious issues. There is a picture of “Chibitalia” described. I do not own it. http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2qqx7zN261rticq7o1_1280.jpg

Antonio was perched on his stool, wearing an ugly, loose smock and jeans shorts long frayed and cut so short his pockets fell out the bottom. He was frowning in concentration at the easel in front of himself, paintbrush in hand and wet and dry paint all over his face, hands, and smock. He dabbed his brush in the smeared mixture of color on the plastic paint tray he held and added just a bit more to the canvas. Blinking, he sat back, paintbrush loose in his grip, paint tray sloping downwards unconsciously.

“That’s it, then,” Antonio decided firmly.

It had been about five weeks since Lovino had agreed to be painted. True to Antonio’s word, he’d let Lovino do whatever he wanted instead of just sit somewhere. The first time, Lovino had awkwardly wandered around the flat, keeping in Antonio’s line of sight, and chattering about nothing, just to drop off into confused silence. He rifled through building plans and contracts on Antonio’s work desk, kicked at dirty clothes on the floor, and laughed at the tomatoes outside Antonio’s window. He bitched at Antonio for leaving dirty dishes in the sink and not having any snacks to eat. By the end of the first visit, Antonio thought Lovino wouldn’t come. But come back he had, blushing a little, with snacks he bought and papers from work under one arm. Lovino came by twice the first week, then three times the second week, then almost every night for the next three weeks. Antonio had no idea what kept Lovino coming, and so often, but he had refused to ask. He didn’t want to point it out and have the contrary Italian refuse to come ever again.

Antonio had started work on the painting before the fourth day of Lovino’s visits, but kept it hidden in the art room. Though, Lovino had traversed through the room again, taking his time and discussing with Antonio the various places and reasons for the pieces, he’d ignored the tarp covered easels. Lovino made dinner half the time he was over, shocking Antonio, but he really cooked just as well as Feliciano- and was really bad with the praise afterwards. Whenever Antonio wasn’t sketching, they would just… talk. They talked about their pasts, their families, their careers. On Sundays, when Lovino came just in time for lunch, Antonio would drag him out into the city first. Antonio knew the city pretty well after five years of living there, but Lovino took him around to places he hadn’t yet gotten to see, or hadn’t made time to “enjoy properly” as Lovino put it. Not only did they share love of tomatoes, but they had similar tastes in most foods and often shared a short lunch or dinner as they wandered the Roman streets and alleys.

All in all, it had been a fantastic five weeks. Antonio told himself it was because he had made such a great new friend. Despite Lovino’s prickliness and cussing, he was… he was…

Antonio sighed and began to put his supplies away.

Lovino was _everything_. That was the only thing Antonio could think. He had folders full of pictures, but only the real person was enough. He had to hear Lovino speaking, laughing, cussing; he had to see him frowning and smirking and raising those perfectly arched eyebrows; he had to smell the faint scent of cologne and espresso and silk and skin, see the sun gleam on his hair, the curving shadow of his lashes on his cheek. He liked to see Lovino enjoy each bite of pasta, each sip of espresso, every lick of gelato and see him rage over mess and disorder like it was a sin to be a slob. Antonio loved the look on Lovino’s eyes when he saw something beautiful, when he walked through Antonio’s art room, or saw street painters as they wandered through Rome.

Lovino was the last thing Antonio thought of when he went to bed, the first image as he woke, and he was always lurking in that misty in between as he slept.  He was greedy for every moment with Lovino and jealous of every moment without. He was going crazy. He _was_ crazy. Antonio didn’t even care. As long as he could see Lovino it didn’t matter.

He was in his bathroom, rinsing out his brushes when he looked up into the mirror. He blinked, startled. Normally, his mirror was spotty with water drops and random spots of toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth. It was perfectly clean now, though. He glanced around and noticed that all his bathroom things were in their places and that all the surfaces were gleaming and clean. Even the toilet had lost that usual grey ring in the bowl he always told himself to scrub and never did. He stepped back and hit the wall, laughing as he ran his hand in his hair.

 _Lovino_. The man had _cleaned Antonio’s bathroom_ the day before. Antonio had been working on a blueprint for his job while Lovino was over and, apparently, while he had been occupied, Lovino had scrubbed the little closet of a room within an inch of its existence. Antonio could picture him doing it, too, complete with rolled sleeves and low, angry cussing. 

“ _Mierda, mierda!_ ” Antonio seethed. _This can’t be happening. Not again._

He pushed himself from the wall and grabbed his wet brushes. He wasn’t going to sit here and wallow. Antonio hated wallowing. He hated thinking about things that upset him, too, or things that confused him. What was the point of dwelling on things you didn’t understand or couldn’t change? Philosopher, Antonio was _not_. So he packed away all his supplies before changing into some decently clean jeans and a _La Roja_ jersey. He figured Lovino might kick him out of the gallery if he walked in with his usual t-shirt, but a futbol jersey? Even Lovino, an avid futbol fan himself, would turn a blind eye to this. Unless he kicked him out for representing Spain after the FIFA win this past month. Antonio chuckled, but left the jersey on. An angry Lovino was a fun Lovino, to Antonio’s thinking.

He carefully placed the tarp over the portrait and, just as carefully, lifted it up. It took a bit of finagling, but he got it out of the apartment without disturbing it. Instead of walking as he normally would, he flagged down a taxi to Lovino’s gallery. He was dropped off just minutes later (Italian drivers were insane), and, after paying the taxi driver, he walked up to the glass doors. This was his first time at the gallery and he tried to ignore the sudden nervousness. He used his butt to push the door open and spun around slowly into the cool, air-conditioned atrium. It was big and airy with the muted colors of the sunset flooding in through the windows. A perfectly round counter sat in the center of the atrium, and Antonio could see past it to the sculptures and partitions holding up paintings. A few paintings hung straight down from the ceiling on transparent wires, though none of the paintings that Antonio could see were in the direct sunlight. The lights were bright, but not harsh like the lights in Antonio’s studio room. A few potted plants sat in decorative urns by the doors and the counter. A young woman at the counter looked up and then scowled. She was pretty Italian girl dressed very smart in a pantsuit.

“Excuse me, sir, but the gallery is closing in a few moments…” she told him, her lips curling at his sandals and jeans. He merely grinned at her.

“I know. I’m here to see Lovi. It’s a private thing,” Antonio tried to explain, chuckling awkwardly with his hands still full of his painting. He really hoped the paint hadn’t smeared under the tarp. He hadn’t given those final touches much time to dry…

“Lovi? You must mean _Mr. Vargas_?” she clarified, one eyebrow rising.

“ _Si_ , _senorita_ , Ah- I mean, miss,” he corrected himself using Italian. He was really feeling nervous if even simple words were switching into Spanish.

“I see. I will ring him up,” she finally acquiesced. She picked up a phone and punched in a few numbers. After a few beats, he must’ve picked up. “Mr. Vargas, there is a man here in the atrium for you. He says he’s here on a private matter and… well, sir, he’s wearing _a Spain jersey and jeans_. Yes, sir, I said Spain. Well, he’s holding a wrapped canvas- sir?” she blinked and set the phone back in its cradle. “Apparently he is on his way now.”

“Yeah, he knows who I am. You shouldn’t of told him about the jersey. Now, it won’t be a surprise,” Antonio joked. He heard Lovino’s brisk pace before he saw him. He turned towards the sound, grinning.

“Antonio! You idiot! You should have called! Lucia, shut down and leave. There aren’t any more people here so you can go,” he told her abruptly. She nodded, apparently used to his harsh wording, and began doing whatever she needed to do.

“If I called it wouldn’t be a surprise. Dontcha like surprises, Lovi?” Antonio chirped. Lovino rolled his eyes.

“I don’t like surprises at _work_. That better be a fucking masterpiece in your arms,” Lovino snapped.

“Well, since you know the subject, you know it has to be,” Antonio teased, eyes twinkling mischievously. Lovino’s whole face burned tomato-red.

“Shut the hell up. Follow me. I’ll take you to my office,” Lovino clipped out, turning on his heel. “Oh, Lucia, lock up, too. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Of course, Mr. Vargas. Oh, your phone calls from this afternoon-”

“They’re handled. Thank you.”

Antonio trotted after Lovino, frowning a bit. Was Lovino seriously angry with him for showing up? He liked to push Lovino’s buttons a little, but he didn’t seriously like _pissing him off_. There was a difference. He caught up with Lovino’s rapid pace.

“Lovi, are you angry? I didn’t mean to,” Antonio cajoled with a contrite smile on his face. Lovino glanced up, and Antonio caught those flaming red cheeks, and his smile became a grin. _Nope, my little Italian is still embarrassed_ , he thought cheerfully.

“I’m not angry, you dope,” Lovino snapped, concurring with Antonio’s conclusion. He slowed to a stop and scowled up at the Spaniard. “I wasn’t fucking expecting you. I thought you would show me at your damn house, not show up _here_.”

“Well, I finished it today and I had to show you. You’ll like it, I promise,” Antonio swore, still cheerful and carefree. Lovino grumbled under his breath. “Can I look around a bit, first?”

“What? Uh, yeah, sure. We’re in abstract,” Lovino informed after a quick glance around. “If you want to see something more your style, they’re this way,” he said motioning Antonio after him.

Antonio followed, glancing around and whistling softly. All the art was amazing. The ceramics and sculptures tucked in corners or displayed in key places on the floor, the mesh of colors and styles that never seem to overwhelm or jar each other. Lovino definitely was a master of art and interior design. How strange that his natural talent hadn’t flowed over into actual technique and practice.

“Here, Antonio. You’ll like this one,” Lovino said suddenly. Antonio looked over at him and blinked. Lovino smirked at his face.

On the wall was a little girl in field of flowers, a wreath of them on her head and a bouquet in her hands. She was smiling so happily, reaching out to gift someone only she could see with the blossoms in her hand. It was done in watercolors, giving it a hazy, soft look. In another picture nearby, made by the same hand, Antonio could tell, were those same flowers, fallen in a bundle, wrapped with a faded blue ribbons, alone on a white background. The flowers had lost a number of petals that lay scattered around like discarded confetti.

“The first is a self-portrait,” Lovino spoke softly as he stood next to Antonio. “The artist is someone you know well,” he added.

“You?” Antonio asked stupidly. Lovino punched his ribs, making him wince.

“I wish. No. My brother.”

“Feli? Feli painted these? They’re beautiful. I thought… I thought that was a girl, though…” Antonio mused. Lovino chuckled.

“My mother had always wanted a daughter and had all kinds of clothes for the daughter she never had. Feliciano found them when he was very small and said he liked them. My mother used to dress him up and they’d dance. Sometimes, my mother would put on my father’s clothes and we’d all play house dressed like that. I _never_ wore girls’ clothes, just so you know, but I would play along with them,” Lovino hurriedly assured him, abruptly forcing away the peaceful, happy smile he had been wearing.

Antonio looked back at the picture. “Why watercolors? And why the dying flowers in the next one?”

Lovino sighed. “My mother and father died when we were barely eight and nine. My brother would wear those old dresses and run out to hide from our family. They reminded him so fucking much of her…” he broke off, slowly, thickly. “We bounced around our family for a while before we ended up with our grandfather. One day, he came back, saying he found a little boy to play with. He fucking _begged_ me to help him out so he could go back and for about… I don’t know, two or three weeks, he went out and played with that damn boy. Then one day, he went, and came back crying because the boy was gone. And he never saw him again. Feli said he wasn’t Italian and he spoke it funny, and he’d never heard the accent since. As to why watercolors, you’ll have to ask Feli, though I can guess why.”

Antonio gazed back at that picture sadly. “You can see how happy he is. This is how he remembers feeling then… with that boy…”

“Yes. Come on, let’s go.”

“You don’t approve,” Antonio said without moving. Lovino sighed again.

“You mean about Feli being gay,” Lovino stated. “No… No, I don’t think I do.”

“But you hang his art, despite the fact they are about his love for another boy,” Antonio pressed. Lovino looked away.

“I love my brother. Despite my feelings, I love him and always will. Not only that, but his art and my personal feelings are neither one nor the other. His art is beautiful and they have meaning. They make people _feel_. It would be a damn shame- and complete waste of something special- not to share this,” Lovino explained. Antonio blinked.

“Art means a lot to you.”

“Of course it fucking does! It’s my _life_ , dumbass,” Lovino retorted. “Now, come to the office with that shit so I can get it over with.”

Antonio followed, his brows furrowed. Lovino made for the other side of the gallery, where a dark, wooden door stood between a potted tree and an abstract sculpture of pink marble. He entered the office after Lovino, who snapped the door shut behind him. That blush was back as he stomped over to his desk and perched on it. He crossed his arms and scowled at Antonio, as if he weren’t blushing like a schoolgirl.

“Well, let’s see the damn thing,” Lovino ordered brusquely.

Antonio set it on the chair by his hip. It took a moment, because he didn’t want to smudge anything, but he unwrapped it, sighing in relief. Nothing had smeared or ruined. Lovino’s arms fell to his side, his eyes wide.

“When… when did you…”

“Not too long after you started coming over. Remember when you saw the cat outside?” Antonio replied.

It was picture of Lovino perched on the little balcony, his arms resting on the iron railing, and his head on his arms. The tomato plants seemed to wave right in front of him, and the late afternoon sunlight made his skin and dark hair gleam gold. He was sleeping, his face entirely relaxed, his long legs hanging over the windowsill into the apartment, his feet bare under his grey slacks that had rucked up over his knees to expose his ankles. His white silk blouse was falling out of the waist of his pants and his black vest was hanging loosely around his torso. He looked peaceful, tousled, and outrageously sexy all at once.

“You… you painted that…” Lovino whispered. “That’s how you see me…”

“Every time I look at you. Even when you’re all tucked in and frowning, I remember seeing you like this,” Antonio chuckled.

“Not, not just that…” Lovino disagreed, shaking his head. “You made me… captivating. Like… some sort of unconscious siren…”

Antonio rubbed the back of his neck before replying, “You are. To me, I mean. I’ve drawn you a thousand times, and painted you about a dozen, this is just the one I liked the best, so you know, but even after all that, I can’t help but want more.” Lovino stared at him, mouth gaping. Antonio shrugged and set the portrait down on the floor, leaning it against the chair. “I was thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If you sold my paintings, I mean. If I could trust anyone with my pictures, it would be you. To you, they aren’t pieces of canvas smeared with paint. You wouldn’t let just anyone take them,” he broke off, realizing he was rambling and Lovino was still staring at him.

“You trust me with that?” Lovino finally blurted after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Well, yeah. Besides, you trusted me to draw you. It’s only fair, right?” Antonio pointed out, grinning widely. Lovino shook his head.

“You’re so fucking different than what I expected,” he muttered. Antonio stepped closer.

“ _Que?_ What’s that mean?”

Lovino glared at him. “You act like a fucking idiot all the time, but you actually aren’t that fucking stupid, are you?”

Antonio blinked and then laughed. “I’m not? I think I’m pretty stupid.”

“You’re not. You just act like it. Well, you’re pretty fucking stupid, but you’re not as stupid as you act. You… you _see_ people. Most people, hell, even my own _family_ can’t see me like you do. And we’ve known each other barely more than a damn month,” Lovino grumbled irritably, his face becoming redder and redder as he spoke. He flinched as Antonio’s hand touched his cheek.

Antonio froze, inwardly panicking. He hadn’t meant to touch him. Really, he hadn’t even meant to get this close. But he was close, so close their knees brushed and he was leaning over Lovino. Slowly, hesitantly, he laid his palm to Lovino’s cheek, fingertips brushing his earlobe and jaw. Smooth skin, warm to touch, red and flushed beneath his hand. Lovino’s lips were parted slightly, eyes a little glassy and breathing suddenly uneven. Antonio felt his own heart beating rapidly in his ears. Such a simple touch, so small, so gentle, and he was already shaking. He gulped once, his eyes on Lovino’s as he leaned closer, his other hand touching Lovino’s knee. There was a soft release of breath, not quite a gasp, from the younger man and his amber eyes began to fall. They didn’t quite close, but fastened onto Antonio’s mouth. Still trembling, Antonio increased the pressure of his hand and stroked upwards on Lovino’s thigh, the silk slacks catching in the creases of his hand, the heat of Lovino’s skin almost burning.

They were so close, he could feel Lovino’s breath on his mouth and chin. He tilted Lovino’s head back, meeting that glassy amber gaze once more through the tangled film of lashes. Then, finally, he let his mouth fall over Lovino’s. And Lovino didn’t push him away. Instead, his arms reached up to grasp Antonio’s jersey and pull him down closer. They fell over the desk, their knees parting so Antonio could press closer, straddling Lovino’s thigh. Their lips parted briefly so both could gasp air desperately. But their mouths meshed again, tongues tangling as hands began to grope over cloth, pulling Lovino’s shirt from the waistband of his slacks and pulling up Antonio’s to expose his stomach. Antonio shuddered as Lovino’s fingers trailed up his chest, fingers splayed over the firm skin covering muscle and bone, sweeping over every ridge and bump until his palms were on his pecs, one right over his wildly beating heart.  

He was getting desperate now. His shaking hands somehow managed to pull Lovino’s belt free and fling it somewhere. Lovino yanked his mouth away, startled at the sound, so Antonio pressed his damp lips to Lovino’s neck, sucking in the skin until he heard Lovino moan. The subtle pressure against his pants wasn’t enough, so he pressed his hips forward, rubbing his erection against Lovino’s.

“ _Shit_ , wait-” Lovino gasped, fingernails digging into skin as his hips automatically moved with Antonio’s. He was cut off when Antonio yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. They stared at each other another moment, both panting and beaded with sweat on their foreheads. Antonio leaned back down, grasping Lovino’s legs behind the knees to wrap them around his waist. Lovino bit down on his lip, brows furrowing, as Antonio placed a kiss to his jaw, just below his ear.

“L-Lovi, don’t tell me to stop, please,” Antonio whispered. Lovino’s fingers flexed, but he still didn’t pull away.

“I should…” Lovino muttered back, arching his neck so Antonio could trail his neck down to his collarbone.

“But don’t.”

“I… I won’t,” Lovino breathed softly.

Antonio bit down on Lovino’s throat, then, with just enough pressure for Lovino to cuss aloud. His pulse was heavy and hot against Antonio’s tongue, skin firm and smooth. The light scent of cologne, the silky texture of flesh, the sound of Lovino’s low moan, it made everything quicken painfully until it all slowed. Each movement and sound was in pinpoint clarity, every perception hypersensitive so that Antonio’s head swam as if drugged.

Shiny buttons slipped from buttonholes with the aid of trembling fingers that fumbled and got in each other’s way. Damp, hot kisses trailed down Lovino’s chest as little by little more smooth olive-toned skin was exposed. His fingers dug into Antonio’s thick, messy thatch of dark brown hair, nails scraping scalp, as the taller man’s tongue circled and teeth teased his nipple.

“W-wait… what exactly…” Lovino tried to forced out, jaw tight as Antonio’s hands glided over his hips to his thighs. Antonio pulled away to gaze down at Lovino’s flushed and baffled face.

“I’m going to make love to you, Lovino,” Antonio murmured, brushing chestnut brown hair from Lovino’s eyes. The younger man’s face grew even brighter red. “I’ve been telling myself so long to ignore it. But I can’t. Not with you. That first moment I saw you, I _needed_ you, and every day it’s just got bigger.”

“Your Italian is atrocious,” Lovino stammered breathlessly. Antonio leaned against him, chuckling weakly, their bare chests pressed so close they could feel each other’s heartbeats.

Antonio mumbled something in Spanish, and then placed his lips to Lovino’s ear. The hot rush of breath made goosebumps shudder over Lovino’s whole body and he almost missed Antonio’s softly spoken words. “You drive me crazy. I’m going to taste every last bit of you until you can’t speak anymore, _mi corazon_.”

“Wh-what’s th-that-” Lovino tried to stutter from his suddenly dry mouth. It didn’t matter what that last endearment meant just moments later, though, as Antonio’s deft fingers slipped past the loosened waistband of his slacks to caress the hard length of him. “ _Shit_.”

“Touch me back, _mi Lovi_. I want your hands on me,” Antonio ordered quietly, taking Lovino’s ear in his mouth and nibbling even as his hand slipped up and down in an erratic rhythm.

Antonio really didn’t have to order. Lovino’s fingers were already itching to touch all that bare, heated skin. But the words gave him an excuse to give in. Tentatively, with teeth clenched tightly, his fingertips trailing down Antonio’s face from his hair, down the curve of his neck and over his broad shoulders. He arched into Antonio’s body, almost cussing aloud, as those wicked fingers squeezed and stroked over the already wet tip of his cock. He swallowed a whimper before it left his throat and let his hands fall lower, down lightly muscles arms and the dip of a slender waist until his palms rested on Antonio’s hipbones.

“I… I can’t… I don’t know…” Lovino whispered brokenly, fingers flexing and digging into flesh as he felt his blood surge Antonio’s hands.

“I’ll help you,” Antonio whispered.

Those questing fingers, so hesitant and light, had made his skin light as if on fire. He looked down at Lovino, squirming and so _so_ close, and tried not to grin. Lovino like this was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. His hair was all tousled and his skin was covered a light sheen of sweat. He leaned down to lick Lovino’s neck, so tempting and exposed, as he moved one hand away. There was a shuddering, almost sobbing sigh as the friction lessened and slowed, but then Antonio _felt_ Lovino’s breath catch when he took one of those shy hands in his and led him to where his ache was highest. Even that simple touch through the thick material of his jeans made Antonio groan and he released Lovino’s hand to fumble at his button and zipper, desperate. As the button finally slipped free, he froze, every muscle locked, as Lovino’s hand moved. Slowly, with gently increasing pressure, he stroked the tightly clothed erection. He wanted to weep, shout, murmur stupid, romantic nothings of surrender, but he settled for crushing his mouth to Lovino’s. There was muffled sound, but he was kissing back eagerly within the next breath, pressing into Antonio’s hand eagerly as his own slipped past the zipper he’d loosened. Their tongues danced, wild and wet and teasing. They were gasping with loud, open-mouthed kisses as their hands moved faster and more irregularly, their hips thrusting forward.

Lovino’s other hand had reached around to grip Antonio’s ass, almost pushing Antonio into his hand. His jeans had long fallen to his knees and his baggy cotton boxers not far behind, so Lovino’s hand was squeezing into his bare skin, kneading into the rounded flesh. Antonio’s spare hand was propped on the desk, trying to keep them from completely toppling over, though his arm was beginning to get shaky. Then he felt Lovino grow still, a low, grunting sort of moan escaping into his mouth, and the erection trapped in Antonio’s hand grew and thickened. Just as it dawned on Antonio, waves of heat rushed over his fingers and Lovino was sagging onto the desk, breathing brokenly. He took the moment to stare down at the Italian, eyes rather hazy, to see the lax, blissful expression on Lovino’s blushing face.

“You look like an angel,” Antonio whispered, kissing Lovino softly on the neck and tugging down on Lovino’s slacks with one hand- obviously the clean one. “But I need a tissue, _mi corazon,_ and lube. Something like that?”

“Uh… lube? What? I have lotion?” Lovino answered dazedly, weakly reaching for and snagging a nearby box of tissues. He kicked off his slacks and tried to sit up as Antonio wiped his palm and some of his stomach clean. Lovino grabbed a tissue for himself, mumbling under his breath in embarrassment.

“Lotion will do. But it may feel a little weird for you,” Antonio warned softly. He spotted the bottle himself as he set down the tissue and grabbed it. When he turned back to Lovino, he was blinking owlishly up at Antonio, his face rather pale.

“Oh. Th-that… I… it’s going to fucking hurt…” Lovino mumbled, eyes flickering down to where Antonio still stood rampant.

“ _Si, mi corazon_ , but not the entire time. I promise to make you feel good. So relax,” Antonio told him, shucking off his own pants and boxers and pulling Lovino up against his chest.

The resulting, deliberately seductive kiss did its job. By the time they parted for air, Lovino was definitely closer to his earlier state of … _relaxation_. They kissed again, a little sloppier, as Antonio popped open the lotion with his thumb. It took some maneuvering, but he got a good amount in his hand (and on the table, most likely). He kissed down Lovino’s chest again, this time falling to his knees. Lovino’s hand clutched at Antonio’s hair, as if to stop him, but he didn’t push him away, only leaned rigidly against the desk, eyes wide and gazing downwards.

Kisses trailed over hipbones and down his inner thighs, teeth nibbling over the smooth skin, catching on the silky hair there. A long, lazy swipe of his tongue made Lovino’s eyes close and his lips part. He felt his erection grow and thicken in the hot damp mouth that surrounded his cock. Antonio glanced up, then placed his first slicked finger to Lovino’s entrance. Slowly, he pressed in, Lovino’s muscles contracting at the invasion. But he was soon gasping, hips moving with both mouth and finger as Antonio continued. Lovino was as hard as he’d been before, a strangled sound escaping, when Antonio roughly licked the tip and pushed in yet another finger. He scissored his fingers, thrusting in deeper. If his mouth hadn’t been occupied, he would’ve grinned at Lovino’s scream for more, for faster, for deeper. Taking a slow breath, he took as much of him into his mouth as he could and pushed in the last finger. The cry this time was mingled pain and pleasure, and Antonio waited a beat until Lovino relaxed again.

Finally, finally, Lovino was ready. His fingers had twisted painfully into Antonio’s hair now, hips thrusting forward, moving with Antonio’s fingers. He pulled away, sucking his cheeks. It had been a _very_ long time since he’d done that, and even then, he hadn’t much experience with it. Lovino was leaning on his elbow, gazing out half-lidded eyes and looking furious.

“Why the hell did you stop?” Lovino snarled. Antonio chuckled and leaned forward. The younger man moved his mouth away, so his lips fell on his jaw instead. He merely kissed there, trailing down to Lovino’s throat while he squeezed more lotion onto his palm.

“The best is coming, _mi corazon_ , patience.”

“Fucking your face kinda felt like the best part to me,” Lovino muttered irritably.

“Just turn around and brace on the desk,” Antonio said, smirking. Lovino eyed him warily, but did it. That tight little butt waving in front of him made Antonio’s eyes cross, but he swallowed hard and got ahold of himself.

Quickly, he slicked his erection, now long-neglected and _painfully_ hard, with lotion. He leaned over, placed his hand by Lovino’s, trying to pull his other hand away, but it felt _too damn good_. But Lovino wasn’t the patient kind, and idea of Lovino deciding to end it now was enough for him to let go of the desk and grip Lovino’s hip instead. His whole body was shaking as he guided himself to Lovino’s entrance, and sweat was pouring down his forehead and temples. He shook his head briskly and pushed in. He paused, trembling, as Lovino groaned, falling over the desk as his fingers gripped the other edge. The movement caused Antonio to slip in more and he moved with it, deeper and deeper as his blood beat in his ears and both his hands gripped Lovino’s waist.

“W-Wait-” Lovino choked out.

Antonio placed his forehead on Lovino’s back, between his shoulder blades, panting roughly. “Just a little more, _mi corazon_ …”

“It fucking _hurts_ , damn it!”

“I kn-know, j-just… calm down,” Antonio muttered, guiding himself further in. Lovino tried to shift, making them both cry out in a mixture of pain and ecstasy. “ _Don’t move_!”

“I c-couldn’t- Don’t yell at me, you asshole!” Lovino snapped back, trying to turn to look over his shoulder. The movement made them both flinch.

With a low growl, Antonio thrust the rest of the way, biting down on the back of Lovino’s neck. Lovino cried out, but Antonio pulled his hips up, forcing himself in deeper. Slowly, he moved, drawing in and out while Lovino writhed and tried to keep still, cussed, and panted. Antonio dragged him closer, hips even higher, and there- Lovino’s whole body tightened like a bowstring and a low, surprised gasp made Antonio smirk tightly. _Found it_. He took the opportunity to move faster, and a little harder, pressing again into that place that made Lovino moan out loud. And then it was frenzy. Fingers slipped over skin, hands grabbed at the desk as nails scratched over glass and felt, lips brushed sweaty skin, and cheek and jaw pressed to a leather folder, the brass corner biting into skin, flesh slapped loudly as hips thrust forward again and again, and a hand wrapped around to jerk off the slick erection almost forgotten.

He could feel it coming _too soon, too damn soon_ _not yet_. Fingers squeezed and another rush of heat flowed over Antonio’s fingers. At the strangled sound of his name in Lovino’s voice, he tensed and felt himself release. That blissful moment where only blinding pleasure existed, and then he was falling over Lovino’s prone form.

Dazedly, he kissed the naked shoulder in front of his half-closed eyes, and whispered, “ _mi corazon, Ay Dios mio_.”

.

A while later, they gathered up their clothes in an awkward silence, unable to meet each other’s eyes as they dressed. Antonio finished first and went over to pick up the portrait.

“Wh-” he cleared his throat quickly, “Where do you want this?”

Lovino looked up from tying on his shoes, his cheeks still red. He stared at the picture. “My house.”

“Ah, so… I should wrap it. Do you need help taking it?” Antonio asked uncomfortably. Lovino scowled, glancing away.

“Yes, damn it. You’re going home with me tonight. I’m fucking starving, so you’re going to cook me dinner.”

Antonio gaped at him, before breaking into a large grin. “Yeah, I can do that!”

“Why the hell couldn’t you? You haven’t anything else to do in that slobby apartment of yours?” Lovino snapped, getting to his feet and walking around his desk.

“Um, no, not really,” Antonio conceded, trying not to laugh. He watched, bemused, as Lovino pulled out some sanitizer spray. He was blushing brightly while he wiped down his desk as Antonio burst out laughing

“Shut the fuck up. You ready to go?” he demanded, tossing the rag and spray back into their drawer.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Antonio gasped.

As they left, Lovino stopped to check that all the lights were off and to set the alarm, before locking it up for the night. They turned towards the street. Antonio tucked the re-wrapped portrait under his arm, then, reached out to clasp Lovino’s hand. After what happened in the office, it wasn’t quite that intimate a touch, but it still made Lovino jump. Antonio merely whistled and entwined their fingers. They walked to Lovino’s apartment, hand in hand.

Lovino’s apartment was exactly as Antonio expected. Two bedrooms and two bath with a large living area and kitchen separated by a granite-topped counter. The floors were a high-polished hardwood warmed with thick, dark- and crème- colored rugs. The lamps and light fixtures all had decorative glass shades or stainless steel sconces, the appliances were gleaming stainless steel as well. Other than the missing microwave, Lovino had almost everything a restaurant might have, only on a smaller scale. They didn’t talk about what happened the rest of the night, but when dinner was over and the dishes washed, Lovino led Antonio to his room.

They went slowly the second time, as if trying to savor each moment. And even after Lovino had fallen asleep, curling against Antonio side and tucked under his arm, Antonio lay awake. It was still burning under his skin- that need for Lovino. As amazing as each time had been, he still couldn’t wait for the next. He wanted to spend every day and night here, in bed, making love to Lovino. He wanted to fall asleep next to him and wake up the next morning with him and he couldn’t think of any time he wouldn’t want that. He was sinking hard and fast. His desire for Lovino wasn’t ebbing at all, but only increased each moment. Antonio pressed his nose to Lovino’s hair, breathed in the sweet scent of his shampoo, and stroked the younger man’s side from his shoulder to his hip, marveling at the smooth, soft feel of his skin.

One time, two times, a hundred times- this desire wasn’t going to burn out any time soon. And Antonio stopped caring.


End file.
